Be Careful What You Wish For
by vinvalen
Summary: In which Cid must decide what brand of steak sauce goes well with boot leather... Please be aware that this fic contains mild yaoi references. Don't like, don't read! Simple as that...thanks, and enjoy!


In which Cid must eventually decide which brand of steak sauce goes well with boot leather….

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Disclaimer: The usual: not mine, just indulging in a bit of temporary insanity.

Dedicated with joyful affection to ani_mama

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"Vin, if ya don't stop talking to yerself people are gonna start thinkin' yer strange or somethin'" (This astute observation came directly on the heels of a full half-hour of watching Vincent pace and mumble.)

Vincent, to his credit, refrained from a suitably pithy reply, instead pausing mid-stride to pin Cid with a ruby-jeweled glare before resuming his semi-weekly routine.

Cid sighed, resigning himself to talking Vincent 'down from the ledge' yet again . He snagged a scrap of paper from across the table and began sketching as Vincent resumed his mumbling and pacing without missing a beat.

"…An' I figured I can't fly the old girl an' be a bouncer at th' same time, so we'll hire Rude for that.

Mumble…pace…turn… mumble…

"… Hmm. A'course anybody that gets bounced at 20,000 feet is gonna need a parachute…."

Pace..turn…pace… mumble…

"…We'll drag her out of mothballs and paint her pink. Gotta have a craps table. Reno c'n run it…"

Mumble…mumble…

"…An' we'll redo the cargo bay into sections fer th' girls…I figure a dozen or so ta' start. Wonder if Cloud would be interested?" He affected a sniffle. "Brings a tear to th' eye, it does…Ol' Don Horneo would be _so_ proud…"

Mumble…momentary pause.

"…An' you can be the Madam. Can't have a' airborne bordello without a Madam. We'll call her the 'Flyin' Chocobo Ranch'…" Cid grinned. He'd watched for the little break in Vincent's tirade, meaning the nonsense he was spouting was beginning to penetrate Vincent's fog.

_Anytime now_… Cid swooped in for the coup de grace; extending his sketch with a flourish to flutter at the end of Vincent's nose.

"_WHAT?!!!" _The gunman grabbed Cid's wrist; pushing the offending scrap far enough away to actually it see without becoming crosseyed. The Lady Luck had undergone a makeover; and when Vincent realized it was his own face staring back at him from above the skimpily-clad subject…his complexion developed a shade somewhere between the color of his eyes and the red 'costume' the revamped pinup was _almost_ wearing. Privately, he admired the boots, but he wasn't about to let Cid in on this small detail.

"Welcome back, Vin, enjoy your trip?" he grinned, to Vincent's outraged sputtering.

The gunman drew himself up to his full height, rearranging his ruffled dignity. "I am merely attempting to explain to Chaos why I'm not going to subject myself to a double anchovy and garlic pizza simply because I'm not in the mood to go fishing"

Cid frowned. There was something inherently _wrong_ with that statement, but he set it aside to ponder upon later.

"An' that takes a half hour of makin' yerself dizzy to accomplish?" Cid smirked.

"You know as well as I do how persistent Chaos is once he has his mind set on something. At least Galian is not craving roadkill." Vincent winced, wishing he'd not voiced that particular thought aloud so soon upon the heels of breakfast.

"Heh. Yer too soft on 'em, is all. If they lived in _here_…" Cid jerked a thumb smugly at himself, "they'd _know_ who's boss."

Vincent cocked one elegant eyebrow and stared down his aristocratic nose. "I sincerely wish you had to put up with them if only for twenty-four hours," he replied caustically.

Immediately on the heels of this declaration, thunder rolled ominously; as if echoing his sentiment.

And so it was, bright and early the next morning (with some small sense of wonder and not a little amusement) that Vincent surveyed the results of what he could not help but view as the Planet's sense of humor manifesting itself.

The sun through the bedroom curtains rested upon his 'not-necessarily-a-morning-person' bedmate, and the gunman allowed a most un-Vincent-like giggle to escape.

Beside him, buried to his nose in the blanket was a face whose red eyes blinked blearily; his mussed black hair cropped short and spiking in all directions, vaguely reminiscent of Cloud having a really bad hair day.

Inside Vincent, however, it was blissfully, utterly, _silent_.

No early morning bickering between the resident alpha-demons jockeying for position in the daily dominance queue.

No internal discussion of whose turn it was to make demands (remarkably similar to pregnancy-induced cravings) for strange breakfast items.

No urges to go out and roost in a tree in hopes some randomly wandering monster would happen by and provide the day's entertainment.

No inclinations to perch on the roof, roll in something disgusting or take a leak on random truck wheels.

No woe-is-me maunderings or badly composed poetry emanating from the (usually) quietest member of his private menagerie.

Vincent sighed happily. Life (this morning at least) was good.

Best of all was the sneak peek in the dresser mirror which revealed sultry blue eyes to go with the long, lustrous blonde hair now gracing his reflection. Oh yes…and the absence of a certain brass appendage that Vincent noted had made the migration as well. Feeling something digging into his scalp just above his ear, he reached up and peeled Cid's goggles off along with their resident pack of cigarettes, glaring at them. "Hmm. Silly me…I thought this was permanently attached."

He had a choice to make. Grin evilly and finish waking Cid for the sheer pleasure of it, or chortle madly, allowing nature to take its course? Either option was equally attractive. Perhaps he should warn Cid about scratching left-handed in sensitive areas before fully conscious? Decisions, decisions…Vincent settled in to ponder rather cheerfully. Let the games begin…

He didn't have to wait long. Cid awakened abruptly mid-snore, blinking yet again before his eyes snapped open and he began backing away hurriedly, grabbing up a corner of the blanket to cover the goods and almost falling off the bed in the process.

"Who th' fuck are ya and where's my Vincent?" he demanded.

Vincent merely smiled. "Look in the mirror, Chief… then ask me again."

Cid bounced out of bed to do exactly that. Turning full around, he admired the new look from every angle; then brought up his left arm to wiggle the brass fingers experimentally. "Heh. I look pretty good." He poked around on his chest, as if feeling for his new hitchhikers. Getting no response, he grinned. "Don't know what yer always complainin' about, Vince. This is gonna be a piece a' cake. Speakin' a' cake…c'mere, Delicious…" Cid began stalking back toward the bed.

"Oh, no. You are going to get the full benefit of this little exchange first," Vincent replied, evading him. "Besides, when the 'traveling circus' is quiet, it usually means they're plotting something, and I can't wait to find out what they have in mind," he smirked. Vincent indicated a spot on his own torso. "Would now be a good time to tell you that _I _still have the Protomateria?"

************

Breakfast, for Vincent at least, was a sensual experience almost bordering upon decadence. Cid didn't indulge in the pacing and mumbling routine (out of spite, most likely) but he did manifest several random, full-body twitches, even while standing stubbornly silent at the counter and chain-smoking his way through a full pack of cigarettes within the space of thirty minutes. Meanwhile, the gunman innocently procured another scrap of paper, and began a careful sketch of his own. When he had finished, he scooted it face down across the table to rest beside Cid's plate and rose to begin clearing the dishes. Cid waited until his back was turned before flipping it over. Lady Luck's latest revision (in addition to the red outfit) currently sported hairy legs, stubble and aviator goggles. And a cigarette. And the Venus Gospel. Cid waited a few moments for Vincent to wander into the living room before flopping into a chair and allowing his head to thump down upon the table.

"By the way," Vincent offered from the other room, "you may want to stay grounded today. Gigas has a fascination for rollercoasters. And whatever you do, refrain from mentioning the words f-l-e-a c-o-l-l-a-r, Galian is sensitive about such things. Don't correct Gigas when he misquotes _Loveless_, he has enough of a complex already. I also suggest not allowing Hellmasker to watch television before noon today; the sports channel is featuring a lumberjack competition and he doesn't need any further inspiration. Chaos will nag you about trying the gargle-vodka-and-play-flamethrower trick ever since he saw Reno do it; so just ignore him."

Cid allowed his head to thump back down on the table.

"Me and my big mouth…"

"I didn't quite catch that," Vincent offered cheerfully as he reentered the kitchen. "Were you by chance _mumbling_?"

*****

"_Son of a ---!!!"_ was probably the mildest observation heard from behind the bathroom door a short while later.

"Having any problems in there, 'Mr. I'm Too Smooth to Wear the Claw Guards'? Vincent inquired innocently.

"Bite me."

"Maybe later…that is _if_ you haven't amputated anything interesting by then." Vincent snorted. "I don't think they had such contingencies in mind when Cure materia was invented."

"How the Hells is a man s'posed to do…what he's gotta do one-handed?" came the caustic reply.

"Practice, Highwind…lots and _lots_ of practice."

******

Cid was, though he would never admit it, beginning to worry. The early part of the day had, so far, passed without incident; with nary a peep manifesting from his interior. At the moment, they were on the front porch savoring a mid-morning cup of tea when Cloud roared by on Fenrir, tossing a lazy wave in passing. As they watched him depart in a wake of dust and flying gravel, Vincent's eyebrow quirked upward in disbelief as he and Cid exchanged a glance; wondering at Cloud's seemingly permanently-oblivious state of being.

"That boy gives blond a bad name," Chaos observed.

Vincent, mildly affronted by the snide reference to his current state and Cid's standard one, decided to stack the deck. He smiled evilly into his teacup; uttering a single word in reply.

"Fetch."

Cid was off the porch as if shot from a mako cannon; in rapid pursuit of Cloud's dust storm before a non-genetically-altered person could blink.

Vincent watched them until they were out of sight. He sincerely doubted Cid would actually _catch_ Cloud, but the little sprint should go a long way toward tempering his smugness. Vincent glanced at his watch, calculating. Galian's romp should be good for at least fifteen miles before Death Gigas started whining about missing his soaps; and then Chaos would fly them back just to shut him up. Secretly, Vincent was sure Chaos was just as fond of _"Midnight in Midgar"_ as the rest of the gang, and it did allow for an afternoon nap on Vincent's part while they spent the following hour critiquing the latest episode. He sighed, grateful for small favors. Hopefully, Cid would be enamored enough with the flight back that he wouldn't annoy Chaos overmuch, provoking the demon into shifting back and (literally) dropping the pilot's snarky butt in midair.

With ten minutes to spare, Vincent calmly listened to the string of curses emanating from the roof. He flipped through television channels before proceeding into the kitchen and retrieving the plate of snacks he had prepared. Cracking open a cold beer, he set both down on the table in front of the sofa before going out to get an extension ladder from the toolshed, reflecting upon Chaos' sense of humor as it applied to Cid.

****

Vincent lazed amidst pillows and a blankets in the hammock, indulging in an uninterrupted bowl of chocolate ice cream and idly thumbing through an issue of the _Gaia's Secret_ catalog he had borrowed from Reno. He was rather intrigued by some of the choices the Turk had circled, especially where they were _not_ noted in petite sizes. Vincent sighed; deciding some aspects of Reno and Cloud's relationship didn't bear close scrutiny. He cruised through a few more pages before a small smile graced his features. Flipping open his PHS, he hit Reno's number on speed dial. Being an ex-Turk did have advantages, especially as applied to calling in favors…

The sound of Cid banging about in the toolshed interrupted the blessed peace and quiet of Vincent's contemplation, and he idly looked up to spot Cid, shovel in hand, gazing about with a bewildered frown. Vincent pondered momentarily; recalling where he had wanted to plant some new lilacs and rosebushes before gesturing to gain the pilot's attention.

"Thirty degrees starboard, twelve paces due north, dig," he supplied helpfully. Galian's absent-mindedness regarding where he buried his snacks to 'ripen' would serve to avert a gastronomic catastrophe on Cid's part, as well as accomplish the landscaping Cid had been managing to postpone indefinitely. Vincent settled back, secure in the knowledge that Cid would be suitably grateful later on, wistfully rejecting the temptation of seeing the pilot get his 'just desserts'.

He was still comfortably dozing in the hammock when a vaguely familiar buzzing sound invaded his consciousness, again coming from the direction of the toolshed. _Really, _he mused_, that place was seeing more action today than in the last three weeks combined._ Frowning, Vincent ran through his mental checklist, wondering what Hellmasker had found as a consolation prize. The gunman had already taken the precaution of locking up the Venus Gospel and chainsaw while Cid was off on his morning adventure; as well as the hedge trimmer, weedeater, and electric can opener. When the buzzing noise was abruptly accompanied by another string of curses and assorted thumps and crashing, he felt a twinge of apprehension. Vincent had just managed to prop himself up on one elbow when their cat shot around the corner of the house with Cid in hot pursuit. He had an electric razor in one hand; was trailed by several hundred feet of extension cord, and was wearing an expression of demented determination on his face.

The cat managed to clear both Vincent and the hammock in one magnificent, awe-inspiring leap, raining leaves and bark fragments upon the gunman as it disappeared into the branches above.

Years of practice and former-Turk reflexes had the razor confiscated, Cid lassoed, trussed, and considerately unplugged _before_ Vincent turned the water hose on him. He then wandered into the house, ignoring the howling, vehement promises of suitably creative retribution, and calculating he would have just enough time to clean and polish his entire gun collection before Cid could be safely released.

*****

Vincent smiled fondly down upon his sleeping mate, who had managed to wiggle and squirm his way onto the pillow and blanket the gunman had thoughtfully placed in a convenient dry spot. The gunman calculated the odds of a repeat performance as he unwound the extension cord and hauled the exhausted pilot into the house; peeling off Cid's damp clothing and flopping him on the bed to finish sleeping it off. He then made his way back downstairs and phoned RocketPizza. Indulging in a well-deserved "I told you so' would be best accomplished subtly; especially with the foreknowledge of Cid's considerable appetite. Smugly savoring the thought, he blithely requested two deluxe double anchovies and garlic (pan crust) that _he_ wouldn't be required to partake of…

*******

Cid awakened just as a delicate hand, fingers tracing mesmerizing patterns, was followed by a slender leg making seductive up and down motions against the bathroom doorframe. A few moments later, this fascinating show was followed by the rest of Vincent; dressed in something very blue and very skimpy; specially delivered that afternoon by Air Reno. Sultry eyes blinked seductively through strands of artfully messy blond tresses as Vincent slinked to the bed.

Cid heard (and felt) his temporary resident chorus rise to attention, growling in appreciation. He rapidly reconsidered the day's events, weighing benefits as opposed to drawbacks.

"Y'know, babe," the pilot grinned as his enhanced libido rapidly began making plans, "We should really do this more often…"


End file.
